


More Than A Legacy

by jaybirdwrites



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BMol - Freeform, British Men of Letters, F/M, Fix-It, Gen, Mick Davies deserved better, the ending we all wanted
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-23
Updated: 2018-09-24
Packaged: 2019-07-16 06:12:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16080110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaybirdwrites/pseuds/jaybirdwrites
Summary: This is a short reader-insert series focused on Mick Davies’ storyline. Reader, who has been given a name for a large part of the story (it’s for a good reason, I swear!) is hunting in America when she meets the Winchesters. Eventually, through them, she encounters the British Men of Letters. It becomes clear that the reader is hiding something and that there is a history between them.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your first hunt goes horribly wrong, and the Winchesters save your life. Because of some events from your past, you are trying to stay off the grid and beg not to be taken to the hospital. Instead, you find yourself in a Men of Letters bunker, faced with some very suspicious Winchesters and their angelic friend.

You slid the long blade into your belt, and some syringes of dead man's blood into your jacket pocket. You had sworn to yourself to lay low and live a quiet life, but this mission had nearly slapped you in the face. And it was nearby. After years of keeping your head down and doing nothing, you needed this. You needed to feel useful. It was just one vampire, anyway. It really didn't get much easier than that. 

Despite this, the car keys rattled slightly in your hand as you inserted them into the ignition. You gripped the steering wheel tightly and stomped on the gas before you could change your mind.

\---

You flew into the wall so hard that it forced the breath from your lungs. Something cracked. A rib, probably. Various cuts burned across your torso, staining your torn shirt with blood. Tears squeezed their way out over your lashes as you felt the shock beginning to set in, numbing the pain but also weighing down your limbs, slowing your movements. 

You had messed up and now this was your punishment, taken out by a trio of vamps. They were going to drain you, drawing it out slowly and tortuously. Then you would be killed. Or worse, turned. You tried to reach for the blade, some distance away on the floor, and your hand was stomped on, making you scream out in agony. 

Before the vampire could move any closer, her head was sliced from her body and tumbled down, landing after a couple of bounces near your foot. The body followed soon after, thudding to the ground to reveal a tall man, his face covered in blood splatters and holding a large, even bloodier, machete. Behind him, another man with a shaggier haircut dispatched the remaining two vampires in quick succession before they had a chance to avenge their partner. 

The man stood over you, angry and intimidating. 

"Who the hell are you?"

You concentrated on finding your voice, "I  uh... I'm Jane. Jane Logan."

"Jane, huh? Well, don't you know better than to go charging into a vamp nest with more than that little pig-sticker you got there?"

"I didn't expect there to be more than one." You couldn't help but glance down at the grisly thing by your foot, nudging it away a little with your boot.

"...You're new at this, aren't you?"

"Yeah... sort of." You coughed, and some blood dripped from your mouth. Your chest felt like it was being torn in half.

The man smiled. "Well then, thank God we got here in time. Name's Dean, that's my brother Sam." He offered you a hand, and you attempted to lift your arm to take it, but your limbs wouldn't respond and the resulting movement was rather pathetic. 

Additionally, it made you gasp as a new wave of pain crashed over you. Your body decided that it was an excellent time to shut down. As the world faded into darkness you managed to mumble, "please... don't take me to a doctor... no hospitals..."

\---

The brothers stared wide-eyed with confusion at your limp form.

"What the hell?"

"It looks like she's pretty badly hurt, Dean. Maybe we should take her back to the bunker so Cas can heal her."

"Why would we do that? We have no idea who this chick is. Just 'cause she's hot doesn't mean we can trust her. I say we ditch her at the nearest hospital and let them deal with her."

"Dean, what if she's in trouble? We can't just leave her. Maybe she needs help."

Dean grumbled, frustrated. "Fine, whatever. But if this goes sideways, it's on you."

\---

The first thing you registered as you opened your eyes was white. A ceiling. You tried to sit up to look around, expecting to feel large amounts of pain any moment. Surprisingly, none came. The room contained little in the way of anything that might hint at a location, besides that you were probably not in a hospital. Glancing down at yourself, you noticed you were still wearing your ragged, bloody clothes. With a quick hop, you were off the bed, making your way towards the door. It creaked quietly as you pulled it open to reveal an empty hallway. 

You crept out, closing the door gently behind you. In doing so, you noticed a familiar symbol etched into the wood. Your heart rate skyrocketed. How was this  _possible_? You had ended up in the one place you had been trying to avoid for so many years. Even if this was real, how were you still alive?

You shoved your panic down and locked it away, it would be of no use to you. There was a chance you were in imminent danger and you needed all of your wits about you. Making slightly less noise than a cat, you crept down the hallway, sticking close to the walls. After turning  a corner, you found yourself facing a large room, lined with bookshelves and artifacts along the walls. In the center was a table, at which three men were seated. You inspected them closely, looking for possible concealed weapons or weak points. Two of them were the brothers you had already met, which only confused you further. Hunters? In a place like this? The other man, you had never seen before. His gaze was solemn... and somehow ancient. The brothers didn't notice you lurking at the edge of the room, engrossed in drinking beer and disagreeing over something. From the sounds of it, they were discussing you.

"So this Jane chick, some hunter we've never heard of, shows up working our case and almost blows it for us. Then right before she passes out she begs us not to take her to a hospital, which sounds sketchy as hell. I'm telling you, Sam. Something's up."

"We'll get some answers out of her when she wakes up," Sam shot a warning glance at his brother, "but we do it my way."

Dean turned to the unknown man, "Yeah, Cas, when  _will_  she wake up?" He took a sip of his beer.

The man, Cas, opened his mouth to answer, before noticing you. With an incline of his head, he drew the attention of his companions to your position.

You straightened your shoulders and strode towards them, as the brothers turned to see what Cas was indicating. 

"So, you're men of letters, then?"

Dean choked on his beer, "Damn it, Sam! You were supposed to lock that door!"

Sam was defiant. "Why would I do that? She's not our prisoner." Then he turned to you, "Not really, we're more like legacies actually. Our grandfather, Henry Winchester, was a man of letters. It was a pretty need- to- know kind of group though, so how do you know about them?"

You swallowed, thinking fast, "My grandmother... was a woman of letters. She died when I was pretty young. Guess I'm sort of a legacy too."

Dean leaned forward, "How 'bout you explain to us why you didn't want to go to a hospital, huh sweetheart? Give us one good reason why we should trust you enough not to kick you out right now." A gun appeared in his hand, accompanied by an ominous click. The barrel was pointed straight at your chest.

Now that your initial panic had faded, you were regaining some of your confidence. Even so, you trembled slightly. You were not safe yet. "A mess with a... shifter got some pretty important people pissed at me a while back... and I had to drop off the grid and lay low for a few years to get away from them - that's why I started hunting. I'm going to catch that son of a bitch eventually and put my life back together." You paused, remembering the state you had been in when the Winchesters had found you. "Thanks for, uh, saving me, by the way. And patching me up. I feel great, actually. How long was I out?"

Sam and Dean, apparently satisfied with your answer, relaxed a little. Sam even smiled, indicating a chair, a silent invitation for you to join them. Hesitantly, you approached and sat down while Dean slid his gun back into his belt. Sam passed you a beer, which you took gratefully, despite it not really being your drink of choice. 

"About an hour or so," said Sam, responding to your question. Before you could ask how the hell that was possible, he continued, "our friend here healed you. Jane, meet Castiel, an angel of the Lord." He smiled with amusement, awaiting your response. 

"Angel? Those are real?"

Castiel, across from you, gave a small nod. "Besides your lacerations, you had several broken ribs. I fused them back together, but you may feel an ache for the next few hours."

"Um... thanks." You paused, gazing curiously at the man sat calmly before you in a trench coat. "No offense, but... I expected angels to look a lot more... impressive."

Castiel was miffed at your response, while the brothers had to stifle a laugh. "This is just a vessel. If you gazed upon my true form, your eyes would burn out of your skull."

"Oh. Okay." Sure, why not? You'd had a hell of a day and were willing to accept any kind of crazy shit by now. Your eyes wandered over the enormous room again, taking in all of the riches of information that sat gathered on the shelves. You turned to Sam, "this place is amazing, by the way. How did you find it?"

"Well, uh... our grandfather kind of... gave us the key. Long story. It is great though, isn't it? Before we had this place, we stayed in Dean's car or in motels. Now, we have all of the knowledge of the men of letters on our side, and some of this stuff is pretty powerful. 'Course, that's why we were a little hesitant to bring you here at first. In the wrong hands, this information could be pretty dangerous. Glad you're one of us, though."

"Yeah, sorry about that. I guess I'm a pretty crappy hunter."

Dean said nothing, taking another swig of his beer. Clearly, he declined to share his response.

"Well, maybe you could stick with us for a while. We could teach you."

Dean slammed his bottle down on the table, "Hey hey. Hold up, Sam. This ain't a hotel, alright? We get into some pretty dangerous stuff, you sure she can handle that?"

"Well, it's a hell of a lot better than throwing her back out there on her own while she doesn't know how to protect herself." He turned to you, "We've got lots of extra rooms. Don't worry about Dean, he'll come around."

"Great, guess we're taking in strays now," Dean muttered sourly.

You got up, "I appreciate the offer, guys, I really do, but I wouldn't want to intrude. And anyway, I should be getting home."

"You sure, Jane?"

"Yeah. Thanks so much for all of your help, but I don't want to cause you any more trouble."

Sam sighed and got up, pulling a small piece of paper out of his pocket. On it, he scribbled a number and handed it to you.  "Alright. But if you ever need anything, information, help with a hunt, whatever, just give us a call, okay?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After years of hunting with the Winchesters, you can’t refuse when Castiel calls to ask for your help in getting them out of trouble. Your world is knocked upside down when you find yourself face to face with the one thing you’ve been trying to avoid all along.

As soon as you got the call from Castiel, you agreed to help. Sam and Dean were in trouble. You had hunted with them off and on for a few years now, and they had saved your life countless times since you had first met. They had become more than your partners; they were your brothers. They would tear through Heaven, Hell, and everything in between to save you if you needed them. It was only fair that you returned the favour. 

\---

A chilly mountain breeze twisted through your hair, and you pulled your coat tighter around yourself. You had been standing under the grey, overcast sky for some time now, waiting on the Winchesters who may or may not come stumbling out of the treeline at any moment. The worst part was that you knew they were out there somewhere, possibly in huge amounts of trouble, and there was nothing for you to do but stand here beside Cas and shiver on a deserted strip of road. Waiting for something to happen.

And then something did happen. A sleek, black car with tinted windows pulled up and ground to a halt a few meters away from where you stood. A moment later, two smartly dressed men stepped out. Without warning, you found yourself face to face with Arthur Ketch.

The sight of them hit you in the gut with the force of a hard kick, and you drew in a strangled gasp of air.  _This_ had been the idea Cas mentioned when you had discussed backup. You felt sick as the pair approached, keeping your expression neutral by sheer force of will.

You felt Ketch's eyes drift from Cas to you before anyone spoke, narrowing as he inspected you. Trying to read you. Your first instinct was to recoil from his icy gaze, but you knew that one twitch could give you away, and it would all be over. You stood your ground.

Mick stepped forward, extending his hand, "I don't believe we've met. I'm Mick Davies and this is my colleague, Arthur Ketch. British Men of Letters."

You stared at the hand as if it were a volatile explosive, unable to bring yourself to take it. Reminding yourself who you were, you dragged your gaze up to meet his. 

"Jane Logan." Your voice was flatter than a sun-scorched lake bed.

Mick curled his fingers into his palm, allowing his arm to drop.

Ketch's gaze was still fixed on you. You could feel it burning a hole through your body, until suddenly he snapped himself out of it, slipping back behind his gentlemanly mask. "Miss Logan. How lovely to make your acquaintance. You seem vaguely familiar... are you sure we haven't met somewhere before?"

"No. Definitely not."

Ketch remained silent, dropping the subject with a gracious nod. You knew he would be watching you like a hawk. The man was like a bloodhound, and he had caught your scent. Fortunately, Mick took the brief silence as an opportunity to get to the point of their presence.

"Your friend Castiel informed us of the potential opportunity to be of service. Seeing as we're looking to make some friends among you American hunters, we were more than happy to oblige. If word were to get out that we did our part to help Sam and Dean Winchester, well... that's just good business, innit."

"We think they're being held somewhere in the Rocky Mountain National Forest," Castiel stated from behind you. Though he couldn't have known, you silently hated him for ever picking up his phone to call you for help. For dragging you into this mission where you found yourself forced to balance on a tightrope for the sake of your life.

"Site ninety-four?" Ketch pitched in. Noting the look of confusion on your face and Cas's, he continued, "It's a government facility that, officially, doesn't exist."

You were only half listening to the exchange, brain flicking through possible ways for you to get yourself as far away from these men as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, trying to disappear now would only raise suspicion. The only option left was to play along, and play so well that nobody would ever guess at what you were keeping buried.  
  


\---

"Imagine a world without monsters..." Mick began his sales pitch the way he always did, trapping Jane's (y/e/c) eyes with his. There was something different about her. Something... a tad off. Ketch had noticed it right away, but Mick was only just starting to catch on. She wasn't surly, like the other hunters. During their recent adventure with the Winchesters, he had noticed how she seemed to speak only when necessary, and when she did, she spoke deliberately, as if she were carefully choosing each word. Odd or not, she was an American hunter, which meant a potential recruit. It was worth a try. In addition, she appeared to have a very close bond with the Winchesters. She could become the bridge they needed to gain the brothers' trust.

"Thanks for the offer, but I'm not interested." She said, barely giving him a chance to take a breath after his spiel.

"But-"

"No. I don't do well with authority." She rose from where she sat across from him. "The only reason I'm here is to ask you never to contact me again." Slapping some money down onto the table to cover their drinks, she spun around and left.

Mick was left sitting alone at the table, dumbfounded.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Mick decides to tag along on a hunt with the Winchesters, you agree to join them in order to protect the brothers from the British Men of Letters and keep your enemies close. When Mick starts acting suspicious in the hospital, you guess what’s up and stop him from killing the werewolf girl. In doing so, you let an incriminating sentence slip which could have terrible repercussions.

"Wow, that is some world-class repression. You are British."

"We prefer to call it a stiff upper lip."

Against all your better judgement, you found yourself, once again, exactly where you least wanted to be. The temporary headquarters of the British Men of Letters. Last time you had seen Mick, you had curtly turned down his offer to work with them. To your relief, he never tried to rub it in your face. 

"We lost people, Dean, good people. And I just want to be prepared for whatever comes next." There was anger in Mick's eyes. And fear. You were nearly tempted to feel sorry for him. 

Dean pulled you and Sam aside. He took a breath to speak, but you beat him to it. "You guys can't seriously be considering working with him. These people - you can't trust them. As soon as they decide you're no longer useful, they'll stab you in the back." This was the reason you were here, to try and keep the Winchesters out of the clutches of the British Men of Letters. You knew what they were capable of, and you owed it to brothers to protect them after all the times they saved your life.

"You can't know that for sure, Jane!" Sam responded, "I think we should give them a chance."

Soon after, you found yourself sharing the back seat of the Impala with Mick Davies, listening to podcasts. You sat stiffly, keeping as much distance between the two of you as possible. Glancing in the rearview mirror, Dean couldn't help but notice your discomfort. 

"Jane, I know you're not happy about this. I get it. But I wouldn't have asked you to come if I didn't think we needed you. We're all gonna have to work together, so that means pulling that stick out of your ass."

Mick tried to suppress a grin but couldn't quite manage it, and you glared fiercely at him. If only looks could kill. Dean had a point, though. Hunting together required at least some small amount of trust, and agreeing to this hunt meant trusting Mick to have your back.  You tried your best to relax a bit. At least this way, you were able to keep a close eye on the British Men of Letters. It would be tricky, always being on guard against slip-ups, but as long as you weren't working with Ketch, you should be safe. Mick seemed much less... observant than his colleague.

The drive felt impossibly long. Mick and Sam seemed to be getting along well, at least. You watched him from the corner of your eye. Being trapped in such close quarters together was leading you to realize Mick was a bit different than what you expected. He was friendly, even funny sometimes. And there was a determination there, too. To protect what he cared about. You could see it flash in his eyes every now and then, when the recent attack on the Men of Letters base came up. You remembered the fear you had seen before, and reluctantly thought that perhaps he had more humanity left in him than you had given him credit for.

Upon your arrival at the hotel, Dean was noticeably excited. There was no doubt that you shared it just a little. It was definitely a lot better than the tacky, dingy motels you had become used to on hunts. You even had your own rooms! You allowed yourself to sink down into the mattress, reminiscing in how good it felt to have  _money_.

\---

The next day started off well, until you found the battered teenage girl lying unconscious in her hospital bed. You introduced yourselves to the mother with a smile as Agent McVee, Fleetwood, and Adams, leaving Mick stranded just outside the door. She, however, was having none of it. You were about to give in and back off when Mick strode in with his white coat and clipboard, which he had acquired God knows where.  _D_ _octor Buckingham?_ The corners of your mouth twitched treacherously upwards. With surprising confidence and smoothness, he got the mother out of the room. You had to admit it was impressive. Maybe even a little bit hot. Upon catching the thought, all of your concentration went to not blushing. You followed the Winchesters out of the room to talk to the mother, while Mick had a look at Hayden's injuries.

After a few minutes, he came back out. You studied his face carefully. Something was wrong. As soon as the mother scurried back into the room, reassured of her daughter's progress, you demanded the bad news.

"What? No - no bad news. She's fine." He marshaled his features into a slight smile. 

Later that night, Mick handed out beers to everyone. You all sat together comfortably for some time, drinking beer and discussing the hunt. You followed the conversation quietly, bottle nearly untouched in your hand, watching Mick. He was hiding something and you knew it. Your suspicions were further confirmed when he announced that he'd be heading to his room for the night, offering some bullshit excuse about a report.

Moments later, you excused yourself, saying you needed the washroom. You made your way up to Mick's room and knocked, not expecting an answer and not getting one. He wasn't there. Of course not.

You knew exactly where he was.

\---

"Mick, no!"

You threw yourself between them before Mick had a chance to strike, feeling a gash torn into your shoulder as the teenage girl lunged forward to defend herself. You bit the inside of your cheek, hard, to stop from crying out as you felt hot blood trickle down your back. You held your position, trembling, glaring at the tip of the syringe in Mick's hand.

"Jane, move out of the way."

In response, you pulled out your gun, cocking it with a loud click and aiming for his chest. "She's just a child, Mick. You don't have to do this!" 

"She just attacked you! Look at her, Jane! She's a monster, and I'm just trying to do my job."

You  glanced at the girl crouched behind you. Her eyes flashed and her teeth were bared, like an animal caught in a trap. The claws of her hand were shiny and red. "Hayden, you need to run. Get out of here. Now."

Hesitantly, the girl rose and made her way around you, eyes flicking between you and Mick. You kept your gun pointed squarely at him in case he tried anything. He glared at you, seething, the only thing holding him in place was the threat to his own life. Seeing this, Hayden made a wild dash for the door. You only lowered your gun once she had disappeared from sight.

"She attacked because you were about to kill her, I just got in the way. That's hardly a reason to put down a young girl."

"That 'young girl' as you call her is a werewolf. The Code demands it, Jane!"

"I know what your Code demands! I also know that it's what turns good people into murderers!"

The knife dropped to his side. "How do you know what our code demands?"

The throbbing in your shoulder blurred out any clarity of thought. You scrambled for a believable explanation. "I'm a legacy. I've done my research." You felt your blood soaking into your shirt, and the world began to sway. With a groan, you slid down to your knees. 

Immediately, Mick was there, the suspicion in his gaze replaced with concern. "We need to leave, before the hospital staff finds us here. Let's get you back to safety where we can patch you up." He extended his hand, offering to help you up. Reluctantly, you took it. He hauled you to your feet and together you slunk out of the building.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breaking the British Men of Letters’ Code shakes Mick Davies to his core. After the hunt, he decides to confront you about what you’ve been hiding. With your life in his hands, he is forced once again to choose between the Code and what he feels is right.

Mick escorted you all the way back to your hotel room, where you crumpled to the floor, one hand clasped tightly over the claw marks in your shoulder.

"That wound looks like it'll need tending. I've had first aid training; let me see it."

You managed to raise a trembling hand, pointing at him. "Stay away from me. I need Sam or Dean."

"They've probably passed out drunk in their beds by now. Jane, I'm perfectly capable-"

"No! Go get them. Please."

With a sigh, Mick turned and left. Moments later, Sam appeared, closing the door quietly behind him as he entered the room. He gasped in surprise when he saw the blood on your torn clothes.

"Jane, what happened to you? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. I uh... didn't trust Mick earlier. Went back to find the girl. A stupid move, I know." You didn't know how to explain how you had known that Mick would return to the hospital, so you decided to keep it to yourself for now.

The bed sank down slightly as Sam sat down beside you, inspecting the damage. Hesitantly, you pulled your shirt down to expose the claw marks gouged into your shoulder blade.

"Guess you were right about her. How did you know?" You hissed at the sting as alcohol from Sam's flask trickled over the wound, sterilizing it. "Sorry," he murmured, "I'm gonna have to stitch this up."

"I'm not sure, I just... had a bad feeling." You gritted your teeth against the pain of of the needle sliding through your raw flesh, pulling it back together.

"Hmmm..." Sam's fingers skimmed over a small ragged ridge on the back of your neck.  
"How did you get this scar? It looks different from the others, almost like you did it yourself."

You hastily pulled your shirt back up so that your collar covered the mark, shuddering as the material slid over your recent injury. "That happened a long time ago." You changed the subject before Sam had any chance to pursue it further. "Hayden is still out there somewhere. We need to track her down before she feeds, maybe we can still save her."

Sam stood, putting away his makeshift medical supplies. "I'll get Dean."

By the look on his face, you knew he wasn't satisfied with your answers. Soon there would be questions that you wouldn't be able to skirt your way around. Everything was starting to unravel.

\---

You had finally made it back to the bunker after a long day's drive. Because it was so late, you and Mick would both be staying the night. The four of you had tracked the werewolf girl all the way out to a remote house in the forest, where you found her with blood dripping from the human heart in her hands as her sire egged her on to take a bite. Mick had been the one to kill the pureblood, injecting the young girl with the serum. Against all odds, she survived the process. You noticed the mixture of relief and horror on Mick's face when he realized that he might have killed her back at the hospital, before even considering that she might be saved. For the entire drive back, he had been quiet. Uneasy. Fear wavered deep in his eyes as the foundation of his world began to crack. He had broken the Code.

A soft knock on the door startled you out of your thoughts, and you winced at the sting in your shoulder as you slid off the bed to go answer it.

The door creaked open to reveal Mick, looking highly uncomfortable, still dressed in his business clothes. "Jane... I need to speak with you. It's important. May I come in?" 

Half of you wanted to slam the door in his face and lock it, but you decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. He was clearly in a state of internal turmoil, and your natural instinct was to help. "Yeah, sure." You stepped aside to let him in and pushed the door shut, "what can I do for you, Mick?"

He turned around and took a deep breath. "You're hiding something."

You froze, unsure of how to respond. Your eyes darted around the room, searching for a weapon. You silently cursed yourself for being stupid enough to let him in. Of course he would have figured out something was up by now. He would have had to be stupid not to.

"Ketch noticed it right away. Now, I'm not saying I can read people the way he can, but something's off about you. Has been since the day we met, when you looked like you had just swallowed something bitter.'

He inched closer, pinning your gaze with his. "Tell me, Jane, how did you know where I would be that night at the hospital? And how did you come to know so much about our code? Because I assure you, it hasn't been written in any books that you would have access to in this dusty old place. I've checked."

You glared at him, mentally shuffling through your supposed history for a convincing excuse."I'm a legacy. My grandmother told me all about it before she passed."

Suspicion was written all over Mick's face. "You're lying, Jane. When you wouldn't let me tend to your injuries, it wasn't just your modesty you were protecting, was it?" Mick's eyes darkened. "You're a bit more than just a legacy, aren't you?" 

You shuffled backwards a step, but he only followed. "Show me the back of your neck. Where they put our trackers. Prove me wrong."

You tried to back away further, but your spine collided with the wall. Mick pulled out his gun and pointed it at your head. "Who are you really, Jane? Tell me."

The barrel hovered inches from your forehead and you squeezed your eyes shut. When you opened them again, Mick's expression was anything but what you had expected. His grey eyes weren't cold and unforgiving. Instead, they were pleading. "Please, Jane. I don't want to kill you. Just give me a reason not to."

Your voice trembled but you forced the words out anyway. "You don't have to kill me, Mick. I'm not a threat to you."

"If you're a traitor to the Men of Letters, the Code commands that I shoot you on sight."

Despite the immediate threat to your life, you felt anger bubble up inside of you. You hated the stupid Men of Letters for what they had done to both of you, the Code that had buried its roots so deeply into him. The same Code that had killed your sister so you could get out of that awful room. "The Code is flawed and you know it! You are capable of being better than this, of making your own choices based on what you know is right!"

"The Code is all I have, Jane! I owe everything to the Men of Letters! You don't know what it's like..."

"Who did they make you kill?"

Mick froze. During the ensuing silence, his eyes became glossy with tears, but beneath that they filled with rage.

"Who the hell are you?" He snarled, pressing the cold barrel of the gun against your forehead, hand trembling with emotion.

"I'm Jane Logan," you stated with a voice of iron.

He stood there, inches from you, wrestling with frustration and indecision. His finger creaked on the trigger.

"You're not like the others, Mick. You have a heart. I've seen it. You can still be a good man. Don't let the Men of Letters take that away from you. Don't let them turn you into a monster."

For another long moment, Mick remained where he was. You had nothing left to say now, prepared to accept whatever happened next. You stayed there, eyes locked on each other, for a moment that stretched on indefinitely. Then, with clenched teeth, Mick dropped the gun. Without another word, he turned on his heel and headed for the door, pausing just before he reached it. 

"I've been summoned to headquarters first thing tomorrow. Since the Code is shot to hell now anyway, I won't report you. But there will be repercussions. I suggest you leave as soon as you can."

You nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Davies."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Mick Davies gets called in to the temporary British Men of Letters headquarters, you know he’s in trouble. Against your better judgement, you go after him. Your secrets are exposed when you confront the Headmistress.

You paced around your temporary room in the Winchester's bunker. You hadn't managed to sleep after your confrontation with Mick last night. He could have killed you then, but chose not to. Why? 

 

Mick had broken the Code. To the Men of Letters, this was the ultimate treachery. And they would kill him for it when they found out. More likely than not, it was the reason that he had been so suddenly summoned back to headquarters. You shouldn't care that Mick was probably about to die. He had given you the chance to get away, maybe go hide somewhere in Canada and start over again before it was too late. You shouldn't care. But you did.

At first you had assumed that he would be just like the other Men of Letters, like Ketch, his soul overwritten by their all-consuming Code. Willing to kill innocents along with the monsters if that's what it took. But you had seen him falter. Seen him regret his decisions, and turn his back on the Code that had been so deeply instilled in him. His humanity was still there, and he could be saved. But it meant risking everything in order to do so.

You swore, fingernails digging into your desk. Why couldn't someone else save the bastard? Why did it have to be you putting yourself in mortal danger yet again, for the sake of a man you had only known a few weeks? Of course, you already knew why. You were the only one who would be able to get past the guards without raising an alarm. 

You had to make a decision now before it no longer mattered.

Cursing your morals, you changed into your best business clothes, adding minimal jewelry. In front of the mirror, you pulled your hair back into a smooth bun. Blending in was going to be all too easy. You slid a gun into under the waist of your skirt, concealing it with your long coat. It rested there, cold and snug against your back. Hopefully, you wouldn't be needing it.

Dean caught you striding towards the exit. 

"Yo Jane, where are you running off to dressed like agent Scully?"

You turned to him. "I think Mick is in trouble. I'm going after him."

"What makes you say that?"

You had no time for this. The charade was over, one way or another. You dropped your American accent, looking straight into Dean's eyes. "I'm so sorry, Dean. I've lied to you both for a long time. I have to go now, but I promise if I make it out alive, I'll explain everything."

Dean was too stunned to respond, and you took the opportunity to rush out the door.

\---

"... But I'm a man now, Doctor Hess. And I can see the choices. And I choose to do the right thing."

A click directly beside Ketch's ear stopped him before he could pull the trigger.

"Don't."

Ketch froze, his arm raised, weapon hovering at the back of Mick's head. His mouth curled into a snarl when he realized his position.

You glanced at the older woman across the table. Shock was written all over her face. Shock and hatred.

"(Y/N)." She hissed, spitting the name out like poison.

There was no more need to pretend. For so many years now, you had hidden beneath a false name and a false accent. Standing here in this room, all of it slipped away. It was oddly relieving.

"Hello again, Doctor Hess. And Ketch. Nice to see nothing's changed." You glanced at Mick, who was slowly beginning to understand what had just happened. "Mick, get behind me. And Arthur, so much as a twitch from you and your  _illustrious_  career as psychopath ends."

Gingerly, Mick shuffled away from Ketch, fixing his eyes on the weapon now pointed at the empty space where his head had been. The usual look of dry contempt returned to Hess's face, but it only thinly veiled the real fear beneath it. She knew that one wrong move and she would follow where Ketch was headed.

"Miss (Y/L/N)," Ketch sneered. "I should have guessed sooner."

"I hardly blame you. After all, infiltration and disguise were my specialty at Kendrick's. Creating a new identity for myself was really quite simple. I know you attempted to track me down. Actually, you managed to get quite close. Cheers on that." You flashed him your least sincere smile.

Doctor Hess narrowed her eyes,"You betrayed us and the Code when you ran away, Y/N. What would others think if we let you go so easily? Clearly, you don't understand that loyalty is one of the most important aspects of our organization." She inched her way towards an exit, stopping when Mick pulled his own gun on her.

"You and Mr. Davies are both traitors. Any moment now reinforcements will arrive, and neither of you will be leaving this base alive."

"Oh Doctor Hess, I think you've got it the wrong way 'round." Without further warning, you pulled the trigger. The bang was muffled by the silencer screwed onto the end of your weapon. Hess gasped as Ketch collapsed to the ground, eyes wide. Immediately, you shifted your weapon to her. "This is for my sister, you heartless bitch." 

Moments later, you and Mick were ducking out a back exit, leaving the bodies of Hess and Ketch sprawled out in widening pools of their own blood. By the time they were discovered, you would both be long gone.

 


	6. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After years of being Jane Logan, American hunter, your true identity is exposed.This was the price for saving Mick Davies’ life. It’s time for you to explain yourself. Meanwhile, Mick has to decide where to go from here on out.

Dean sat behind the wheel, gaze fixed stonily on the patch of road ahead. A heavy silence hung in the air, while Sam kept glancing from his brother to you and Mick in the backseat.

\---

As you were making your getaway from the Men of Letters headquarters, you had found the Winchester brothers waiting, the Impala idling and ready to go.

"Get in."

Dean's voice had never seemed colder. You supposed you deserved that, after lying to them for so long. You doubted they would ever trust you again.

And yet, they had come after you.

Beside you, Mick was clearly still in a state of shock, trying to process his recent experiences. He was a traitor to the British Men of Letters now.

"What the hell happened back there?" Dean demanded.

"You guys okay?" Added Sam, almost simultaneously.

"Yes. Doctor Hess and Ketch, they -"

"They were going to kill me."

The words dropped flatly from Mick's mouth. One glance at him revealed that he was hunched forward, gaze fixed on some point in space behind Dean's seat. The statement seemed to have been made half to himself.

"Luckily for Mick, I got there in time to stop them. But we need to get out of here. Others will come after us, once they discover the mess we left behind."

Dean turned around bodily in his seat so he could scorch you directly with his glare. "Here's what  _we_ are gonna do. I'm gonna get us somewhere off their radar, and then  _you_ are gonna talk. And you better have a damn good explanation." With that, he punched the accelerator, and the Impala peeled out onto the road with a spray of dirt and squealing tires. All conversation was abruptly over.

The drive went on like this for some time, air crackling with unspoken words, until Dean finally pulled over on a deserted stretch of back road. He turned off the engine and complete silence rushed in for a deafening moment. His gaze locked with yours in the rearview mirror.

"Well?"

A word filled with threatening implication.

All eyes rested on you. Reproachfully. Expectantly. You took a deep breath.

"My real name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N). I was born in England, to parents closely associated with the British Men of Letters. My older sister and I were both enrolled at Kendrick's as soon as we were of age. When our parents were killed on a mission, we both remained in residence at the school. We became devoted to ridding the world of monsters like the ones that killed our parents, and applied ourselves harder than ever to our learning. As we progressed in our studies, we were moved on to the next step."

"As..." - your voice trembled slightly and you fought to keep it even- "as Mr. Davies knows, part of the initiation process is pitting the top students against one another in a one-on-one fight... to the death. As you can imagine, they don't exactly advertise this particular aspect of training. No one knows about it until they enter the room. And when I walked in, I came face to face with my sister."

\---

_"Only one of you leaves this room alive"_

_I looked from Doctor Hess, to the knife lying in the middle of the plastic-covered floor, to my sister. I couldn't move. This must have been some sort of sick joke. They couldn't possibly be serious._   
_My body was made of stone. Nobody told me this would be part of the training. Why would they? But mother and father had been part of the Men of Letters. They must have known. Did they know? How could they have allowed this? Did they know that their two children would be forced to fight one another?_

_T_ _he door closing behind me broke the spell, and I began to tremble uncontrollably. I met my sister's eyes, wide and filled with terror like my own. Then I watched them harden with resolve._

_She strode towards the knife_ _, grabbing it before I had the chance to react._

I am about to die _._

_The thought took over my mind. This was real. My sister was going to kill me with the blade she now gripped tightly in her hand. I knew that, despite my training, I would be unable to fight back. I could not kill my sister, but only one of us was permitted to leave here. It was only right that I, the weak one, should die._

_Our eyes met again, but she made no further move towards me. She looked calm... and sad._

_"It's going to be okay, (Y/N)."_

_I watched as she spun the knife around, reflecting a silver flash as it twirled in her fingers, and plunged it into her chest. The sound it made would follow me into my dreams for the rest of my life. With a strangled gasp for air, she crumpled to the ground._

_\---_

The tremor in your voice was unmistakable now.

"She took the knife and killed herself so that I could live. Then, when Doctor Hess came back, she congratulated me.  _Congratulated_  me. For killing my own sister.

I remained at Kendrick's for a few more years, but never forgave them. I simply waited, biding my time, until I turned 16 and was old enough to live alone. It wasn't long after that that I - that I ran away. You see, no one leaves the British Men of Letters. No one. When I went missing, they sent their operatives after me. They assigned one of their top graduates, Mr. Ketch, to track me down. Of course, I had heard of Ketch. He was ruthless, emotionless. The perfect killer.

He nearly found me before I had the chance to escape. I knew I had to get as far away as possible, so I went to America. Putting all of my training to use, I changed my name, my accent... everything. I left everything I was behind. But Ketch never gave up. I believe it was a personal insult for him when he couldn't catch me.

I laid low for years as Jane Logan, keeping to myself, staying out of trouble. I would come across cases in the news, and ignore them. I knew people were dying, but I told myself there was nothing I could do. I managed to live like that until... until I met you. The Winchester brothers. That was my first time out in the field, working a case. I just couldn't sit back and watch anymore when I had the knowledge and training to help."

You paused, catching your breath, attempting to hold back the tide of emotions rising inside you that came with sharing the truth.

"I'm so very sorry that I lied to you, Sam, Dean. But I couldn't risk being found. They would have executed me."

The silence returned, and you weren't certain what else you could say. Your gaze fell to your lap.

"She's right." Mick finally spoke. You looked up and met his eyes. "I've heard your name before. All of us have. Of course, they didn't give us much detail. We were simply under orders to bring you in - alive or not."

From the front seat, Dean gave a low whistle.

"Well, that's one hell of a story..  _(Y/N)_. It sure would explain a lot. But why should we believe you?"

"Dean, why would she lie about this? It all adds up." Sam broke in.

"No, Sam, he's right..." You paused, trying to think of a way to prove it all.

_The tracker_.

"I have a scar from where they put our trackers, on the back of my neck. It's how Ketch nearly caught me. I cut it out before I ran away. Sam saw it, after that werewolf hunt."

Sam's eyes widened, and he turned to his brother. "It's true, Dean. When I was stitching up her shoulder, I noticed a nasty looking scar on the back of her neck. It looked like she did it herself. She never did say how it happened."

"Fine." Dean conceded, "that's enough for now. Let's get somewhere they won't find us when they come looking." He turned to Mick, "hold on, does this mean you have a tracker in the back of your neck too?"

Mick nodded, lips pressed into a thin line. He knew what was coming.

"Sorry, man. It's gotta go. No point hiding if you're a glowing dot on their map. There's a med kit in the back, Sam, can you-"

"Wait," you cut him off, "I'll do it."

Dean eyed you suspiciously for a moment, before tossing you the keys. "Fine. Make it fast. Sooner we get the hell outta dodge, the better."  
  


**~~~**

You gave Dean a nod and stepped out of the car, making your way around to the trunk and unlocking it. You heard Mick follow you out, footsteps crunching on the gravel and halting a few meters behind you while you rummaged around in the back of the Impala for the med kit. Knowing the Winchesters, it probably contained all the necessary operating equipment of a small hospital. Your fingers finally closed around the object in question, and, unzipping it, you rummaged around briefly before locating a scalpel. Perfect. You turned around to face him, med kit in one hand and scalpel grasped in the other, hanging remorsefully at your side.

"I'm sorry. I don't have anything to dull the pain. This will hurt."

Mick eyed the blade for a moment. "As Dean said, make it fast." Without further hesitation, he strode to the back of the Impala and sat down on the edge of the trunk, tilting his head forward to expose the back of his neck to you.

Gingerly, you reached out and brushed your fingers over his skin, feeling for the small metal object buried just beneath the surface. Without warning, you made the incision, causing Mick to bite down on his forearm to muffle the cry of pain. Quickly, you grabbed a pair of tweezers and pulled out the tiny tracker, then pressed down some gauze on the wound to absorb the trickle of blood.

"It's out, I just have to stitch it up."

Mick remained motionless while you reached for the needle and, as swiftly and neatly as you knew how, closed the small incision, evoking a few moans and a shudder. At least he had someone to help him with it.

"Done."

Mick released a shaky breath. You dropped the tracker to the ground and crushed it beneath your shoe.

Oh, right. You had nearly forgotten that you were still wearing heels. Making a mental note to change into something comfortable as soon as the situation allowed for it, you offered Mick a hand to help him back into the car.

"... Why are you doing this?"

You blinked, puzzled, "to ensure you don't stumble trying to make it back to your seat."

"No," Mick shook his head, then raised his eyes to yours, "why are you helping me? After all that trouble you went to to hide, why toss it away just to save my life?"

"I..." You hesitated, unsure of how to respond, "the British Men of Letters turn people into soldiers that simply follow orders, heedless of whether they are morally right or wrong. But you're different. I could tell that deep beneath all that training and indoctrination, you were still... human. And after working with you, I - against my better judgement - I like you, Mick. And I knew, as soon as they summoned you, that you were in danger. They don't tolerate anyone questioning their methods. I couldn't let you walk in there, knowing you could die, without doing anything about it. I believe you deserve a second chance."

Mick's grey eyes searched yours for a moment, and he looked as if he had something else to say. The moment was interrupted when Dean opened the car door, "You guys about done?"

\---

Hours later, after you had made it to the Winchesters' safe house (more of a cabin, really) and changed into some comfortable clothes, you found yourself sitting on the couch beside Mick, watching the last glowing embers of the fire die in the hearth. The brothers had already gone out to the Impala, having decided to sleep there and leaving you and Mick to choose who got the smelly old single mattress and who got the rickety couch.

Dean had accepted your story, more or less, though he had made it clear that things were definitely still not alright between you. Sam had seemed more sympathetic, and, ever the mediator, had promised to talk to him. Meanwhile, Mick had spent the better part of the last several hours lost in thought.

"Are you alright, Mick?"

He glanced up at you, roused from his thoughts, and flashed a wry half-smile.

"Peachy." He paused, attention returning to the fire before breaking the silence again.

"You know... I never broke a rule. Never once. The Men of Letters were my whole life. I gave them everything. And still, Hess would've had me killed. Without a second thought, just for..."

He trailed off. Pity welled up inside you for this man, who just watched his life crumble before his eyes. All of his beliefs, everything he'd built his foundations on, falling apart.

"She's gone now. You'll never have to go back. You're free to make your own choices. So what will you do?"

"I don't know. They're going to come after me. Perhaps not straight away, but they will." He turned to you, "What about you? Because of me, now they'll come after you too. They'll hunt us both down and kill us for defecting."

"I got away once," you let out a low chuckle, "with Ketch gone, I can easily do it again. And anyway, I believe they'll think twice before returning to America. As for the rest, I don't know if I'll ever be able to mend what I've broken with Sam and Dean. But I believe I'll keep hunting. I've learned that I can't sit on the sidelines and watch as monsters prowl our world." The corner of your mouth lifted into a hesitant half-smile, "maybe you could come with me... be a hunter. We could make quite a team."

Mick laughed, and the way his face lit up had you feeling something you'd been trying to ignore for a while now. "Me? A hunter? Don't you remember how our werewolf mission went?"

You joined in on the mirth. "You should have seen how my first hunt ended. I'd be dead if it weren't for the Winchesters!" Then your tone became more serious again, "it takes some getting used to, but I could help with that."

Mick's gaze locked with yours, and for a long moment neither of you spoke.

"Alright," he finally said, "alright, I'll be hunter."


End file.
